


Stranger

by Katra21



Series: Stranger Than it Appears to Be [5]
Category: Strange Magic (2015)
Genre: Expanding the Universe, Gen, Multi, Other, Prequel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-08
Updated: 2016-01-08
Packaged: 2018-05-12 14:43:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,531
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5669728
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Katra21/pseuds/Katra21
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While watching the movie I felt that it could be so much better, stronger, thicker. What follows will a rough culmination of the background I think the movie could have been infused with.</p>
<p>The history of Marianne and Bog is so much stranger than two people falling in love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stranger

_ The war between Bog King, ruler of Dark Forest and Marian the Second, Queen of Fairy Kingdom, has entered its twenty-seventh consecutive spring. For any future historians reading these texts, do not misunderstand, this is not ninety-seven consecutive years of various campaigns against each other’s realms. That would be considered normal between goblins and fairies. Rather this refers to one continuous war campaign, lead almost exclusively by the Queen Marian’s son and heir, Prince Ronald, the first of his name, should he take the throne… _

_ It is the inevitable ascendancy of Prince Ronald that puts all of Dark Forest ill at ease. Even the thousandth-year anniversary of the Bog King’s current reign was left uncelebrated. By all logic it should be a momentous occasion, and it pains me as a historian to watch it slip by as the king is forced to spend long hours strategizing for battle. There has not been a Bog King to have such a long reign since the halcyon days of King Bog the Pungent whose long reign corresponded with Fairy King Leopold the third, Fairy Queen Eliza the Gentle, and Fairy King Hubble. Yet the loss is understandable, for if Prince Ronald’s bloodlust for goblinkind is not tempered it will only spell destruction for goblins and fairies alike... _

_ After nearly a hundred years of constant conflict the fighting has stopped. Neither side surrendered. No treaties were signed. Rather, a third party has intervened. Sugarplum has declared a ceasefire, and is enforcing it herself, going so far as personally patrolling the borders. While she does take the title of fairy, Sugarplum has been a neutral party in goblin-fairy conflicts for as long as goblins have had the forethought to record their history. While most of the goblins are happy for this reprieve, the Bog King is furious. He has called out Sugarplum’s actions as a betrayal, branding her as an enemy to goblinkind.  _

_ Whatever the future holds, it cannot be good... _

\- Excerpts from the Historical Scrolls of Mordecai the Goblin.

 

**Chapter One** **  
** **The Future of the Bog**

 

"That stubborn, egotistical, idiot,” Sugarplum spat in frustration, as she followed the line of Primroses peeking out from between the two kingdoms. “Declaring me to be an enemy to goblinkind! I should give that overgrown newt a piece of my mind!”

So she did, with a swish of her hand she created a plumette and it morphed into the shape of the goblin king whom she wanted to chastise. The overgrown newt comment hadn’t been far off, the current Bog King was built for the swampy waters from which he took his name. His powerful tail was about the only part of him not covered by the bark like armor provided to him by the forest itself. Although the plummette shimmered with blue light like Sugarplum herself she could still imagine his slimy green skin as she began pointing her finger at the shapeshifted replica.

“You ignoramus,” Sugarplum spat angrily, “cutting yourself off from the world! Again! How many times do we have to repeat this cycle for it to get into that twisted little goblin brain of yours?! I swore to help you! Just like I swore to the Bog Kings before you! It is the same oath I give to the fairy kings and queens. The only difference is that the fairy royals aren’t so wrapped up in their own damaged psyche to ask for my help!”

With a particularly vehement sigh, Sugarplum held back tears of frustration, before laying into her plummette Bog King once more. “I haven’t done  _ anything  _ that could hurt you. You want your little war, well you can have it. I don’t care. Fighting seems to be the only way fairies and goblins can interact anymore. That’s just fine! All I’m doing is stopping that fighting from happening  _ today _ . This closed border is going both ways,  _ stupid _ , I’m not going to let the fairy army walk all over yours but not letting you do the same. I’m just stopping you from  **killing each other** while the prince is away…”

Sugarplum let out another sigh, drifting slowly downwards looking for someplace to land and catch her breath, half ignoring the Bog King plummette. “Prince Ronald asked it of me. My wedding present to him and Suzanne would be to hold off this war during their honeymoon. I’m a messenger of love, what else was I supposed to do? This is not about choosing sides. I would have done the same for you. I mean, who wants to worry about war on their doorstep during their honeymoon?” Then she turned to the Bog King plummette, “Not that you would let  _ anyone  _ into that shrivelled raisin of a heart.”

_ Snap. _ That was a dry twig. 

Sugarplum  whirled around dismissing her plummette with the wave of her fingers. “Alright, who did that?  **The border is closed!** ” Nothing, maybe it was just the wind, or a forest critter. Then another snap, and she whirled around to the sound, magic sparking the tips of her fingers. “Hands to the sky you... imp?!”

The offender squeaked, wrapping large ears and thin tail around itself in self-defense.

“No, no, don’t be afraid, it’s okay,” Sugarplum attempted to reassure it by frantically waving her hands. “You can go across the border anytime you like, pudding.” Imps weren’t part of this war, they swore no allegiances and took no sides. Though, they were all consummate mischief makers, so it wasn’t uncommon for them to be disliked across the board. It was uncommon for an imp to be all on it’s own though, especially such a small and timid one. Normally imps travelled in small troupes, sisters, in particular, would stay together and form a sort of communal matriarchy. “You’re not on your own, are you? Where’s your family?” Sugarplum asked, searching the woods for some sight of what should have been.

Another squeak, this one small and mournful, and Sugarplum immediately knew what had happened. There had  _ been _ a family, but, probably due to some innocent mischief, they had become the victims of a goblin’s rage. 

“Oh... oh sweet pea, I’m so sorry,” Sugarplum rested herself on the same rock, and wrapped an arm around the little imp, not that she was any bigger than the imp was. After a moment the imp reached around her with its dainty little paws and continued to squeak mournfully, accepting the sympathy. Nearly all goblins had rage issues, but Sugarplum couldn’t help but wonder if the aggressor in this case were the Bog King himself, redirecting rage that should have been brought against her instead of some vagabond imp family. The imp wouldn’t be able to tell her. Their language was primarily based on gestures, and even those varied by family group so Sugarplum would probably only be able to understand the most minimal information.

Another snap. Sugarplum whirled, pushing the little imp behind herself and stretching her hands forward, ready to do damage. This time it  _ was _ a goblin, one with insectoid features, four arms, clear rounded wings, globular eyes, and a long proboscis, he greatly resembled a fly. “Move a muscle and you won’t be seeing clearly for a month,” Sugarplum threatened.

“Milady, I wasn’t-”

“Shut it mister,” Sugarplum snapped, the light at her fingers flashing just slightly in her ferocious state. It was the imp at her heels, or more accurately at the wisping trail that would have been her heels if she ever bothered to manifest legs, that Sugarplum wanted to hear from first. “You seen this goblin before?” she asked, not quite certain what she would do if this was one of the little imp’s antagonizers.

The imp shrugged, giving a little squeak of uncertainty. Probably not the one who separated the imp from its family then.

Sugarplum lowered her hands slightly. “Alright,  _ now _ you may explain yourself, goblin. The border is closed, so what do you think you’re doing out here?”

“I wasn’t intending to cross, honestly,” the goblin replied nervously. “I was looking for you actually… oh, forgive me. My name is Mordecai,” he bowed respectfully, making Sugarplum jump a little in surprise. “I’m the historian for the royal court and I, or rather my wife, would like to discuss a sensitive matter with you.”

“Y’know, you’re really polite for a goblin,” Sugarplum said warily.

“Oh, well I… don’t really have an explanation for that.” Mordecai shrugged his shoulders in a sort of pinwheel motion with his left shoulder moving shortly after the right, an awkward tilt to his head. “I’m just weird.”

Now Sugarplum completely dropped her aggressive stance, goblins would never insult themselves before an enemy. Few even had a solid enough to sense of self to deprecate in the first place. Even the most self-aware of goblins stood proud and tall when facing down a fairy. “Alright, so where’s your wife?”

“MORDECAI!” a shrill cry came from the woods, and the insect goblin bowed again, before zipping back into the bushes. That must have been the wife. Sugarplum took a long glance to the imp, taking comfort in the fact that the little fellow seemed just as bewildered as she was feeling. In return she offered a quick stroke to its thin white fur, and watched the tyke let out nervous sigh.

Mordecai returned, more slowly this time, moving hand in hand with another goblin, a very pregnant goblin. She had smooth grey-peach skin, with long ivory horns, and wild red hair the color of autumn leaves, she had beady eyes over a wide, toothy mouth. By goblin standards she was a rather pretty thing. It struck Sugarplum as odd that this would be the wife of such an unconventional goblin as Mordecai. There was a story there, though Sugarplum doubted she would ever hear it.

“Finally,” the goblin woman looked up at Sugarplum, quickly showing a fierce personality as would naturally suit a goblin, “you have a lot of explaining to do!”

“What? Me?” Sugarplum looked on incredulously. “I’m not the one running around dark forest with a bun in the oven. You look like you’re about to pop!”

“That’s exactly my problem,” she snipped, “I was due almost three months ago!”

“Griselda,” Mordecai called her name softly, “you should really be more respectful…”

“Bah, I’m a pregnant lady, I’m allowed to have mood swings,” she brushed her husband’s worries aside. Then she turned back to Sugarplum, “Everyone tells me I’m ready to pop! I’m almost there! I was getting false labour at least once a day, until  _ you _ started your  _ crazy _ ceasefire.”

“Coincidence,” Sugarplum replied, not liking the accusatory tone, or the insult to her methods. It sounded very much like the Bog King’s idea of the goblins being betrayed had gotten stuffed into this woman’s head as well. “You should be consulting a doctor, not me.”

“I’ve  _ been _ to the doctors, lady. My husband works for the Bog King, we have access to medical care! I was worried my baby had up and died in there, but the doctors say he’s alive and well, but he’s just stopped  _ growing _ for some reason.”

“What?” Sugarplum tilted her head. That didn’t make sense. Goblin pregnancy was normally quite predictable despite the many physical differences from goblin to goblin, eight months at least, ten months at most, anything else and the child didn’t come out healthy. All the ceasefire did was stopped anyone from getting killed… “Oh,” Sugarplum gasped. “O-o-oh,” and her hands flew up over her mouth. She looked at Griselda’s round belly, then at Griselda and Mordecai, then back at the woman’s belly.

“Oh, what? Do you have an explanation? Because I sure as sugar, don’t.”

Sugarplum nodded. But she was too overwhelmed to speak it. There was only one life that was dictated by the steady march of time in dark forest, one whose magic was part of the land itself and integral for goblin society to exist.

“Well?” Griselda was getting impatient.

“Sweetie, relax,” Mordecai cooed.

“May I touch your belly? I just have to be certain,” Sugarplum half whispered.

The goblin woman nodded, her face looking rather grave.

Sugarplum slowly reached forward, laying her sparkling blue fingers over the the smooth skin, and felt the draw of raw senescence, enough for a king. A little shriek of delight escaped her lips. “I can’t believe it! This is so exciting!”

“What?”

“It’s the King!” Sugarplum gushed, “The future Bog King! Oh my gosh!” Sugarplum surged forward, wrapping Griselda into a hug, and then Mordecai. “Oh, congratulations to you both! Parents of the future king!” Then she gave another little hug to the imp. Who knew why it had stuck around for the madness. Then another excited shriek, “This is so exciting!”

“That’s… that’s impossible,” now Griselda looked overwhelmed. “Mordy, you know I wouldn’t…”

Apparently it needed a little explaining. Griselda was obviously too young to remember the last clarion. “Don’t worry,” Sugarplum grabbed the goblin woman’s hands, “Mordecai’s an educated goblin, I’m sure he’s well aware that the throne of the Bog King isn’t passed through a royal bloodline.” Sugarplum looked up at Mordecai, but found his features hard to read, though he seemed a little bewildered himself. So Sugarplum cleared her throat, and continued to explain. “You see when one Bog King dies the next is born. You’ll understand when you see him, but the Bog King simply  _ is _ . The dark forest is never without an incarnation for more than a few months. Your son probably would have been born already if I hadn’t interfered in this war. My magical essence can interrupt with the natural order.”

“So, I was right, this  _ is _ your fault,” Griselda said accusingly, easily dismissing the fact that the future king was in her womb in favor of typical goblin aggression.

“Griselda, you don’t know that,” Mordecai was still trying to smooth things along.

“Technically, I guess it is,” Sugarplum crossed her arms, “but it’s really the Bog King’s  _ own _ fault. He’s part of this stupid war, just like Ronald is. Honestly, I don’t know how Marian lets them both carry on like this.”

“Then, the current Bog King really  _ is _ about to die,” Mordecai said soberly. That was the point that he was obsessed over? Not that he was going to be the father of the next king, but that the current one was going to die.

“There’s always a chance that he can change his fate, even though the next king is already on the way it doesn’t mean it’s a sure thing,” Sugarplum muttered, half to herself and half to the new couple. “But you mustn’t warn him, knowing him he’ll get all paranoid, and if he finds out you’re carrying his successor he might think he can extend his reign by not letting you come to term.”

Griselda inhaled sharply at that.

Sugarplum lowered her head slightly, she hated hurting the goblin’s opinions of their king. It was a dangerous thing. They were part of the dark forest, magic bound them to his service, even when they didn’t necessarily want it. It was better for them to love their king, and want to serve him. Things went very poorly when they didn’t. There had only been one goblin revolt that Sugarplum could remember, but it had left deep scars in the way that the dark forest operated. Still, this was just the two goblins, and even if they had lost some love for their current king, they wouldn’t be lacking when it came to the next.

“Thank you, for your expertise, Lady Sugarplum,” Mordecai said, placing one set of hands over his wife’s shoulders.

“Oh, don’t go yet,” Sugarplum zipped back to the border, grabbing a petal from one of the borderline Primroses, before returning to the couple. “I want to bless the future king, I’ve never been able to meet a Bog King before their clarion before, I really can’t waste this opportunity. Oh, and please, just call me Plum.”

“Okay…  _ Plum _ , what’s with the Primrose? I thought you used those for love potions,” Griselda asked.

“Primroses are the only natural element in these parts with mixed magic. I just want a little boost to give the new king the best blessing I can muster,” Plum explained, wringing the magical essence from the flower. Some went into her mouth, empowering her, as she began singing in the ancient tongue that she had been raised in. The rest remained on her hands, glowing pink and yellow, before she brought her palms back to Griselda’s stomach.

“ Eagna agus misneach, carthanas agus maithiúnas, beannacht do rí fhéadfadh a fhlaithis a bheith fada.” she sang, it was a classic blessing, but for the goblins before her she she also translated. “Wisdom and courage, charity and forgiveness, blessings for a king may his reign be long.”

That’s when Sugarplum noticed the little imp drawing closer. Settling down close, the little one seemed fascinated by the music. The blessing might have been the classic but it wouldn’t bring either kingdom closer to a lasting peace. But the magic at Sugarplum’s fingertips was mixed, quintessence and senescence, a combination vital to the creation of love potions. And, perhaps with the imp sitting next to her, a little of his mischief was rubbing off. 

Prince Ronald was on his honeymoon, and Plum knew that his young bride Suzanne had no intention of waiting before starting a family. 

“A chroí atá oscailte, a thuiscint áilleacht fíor. Tá an-áthas ar do shaol a bheith leath de ina n-iomláine.” Plum smiled, and once again translated, “A heart that is open, to appreciate true beauty. The joy of your life is being half of a whole.”

The magic dissipated, and Sugarplum swayed slightly from the drain. The imp offered a fuzzy white shoulder to steady her before she looked up at the goblin couple. Mordecai’s face was still unreadable, but Griselda had delight in her eyes, her lips pursed as she clung to her husband.

“Oh, Plum,” Griselda cooed, “that was perfect. Hear that Mordy, our boy’s a lover, not a fighter.” 

Sugarplum managed an awkward smile, it didn’t quite mean that, but she didn’t want to dampen Griselda’s enthusiasm.

“You’ve got to be kidding,” Mordecai intoned dryly. “At a time like this? You could not gift our son with battle strategies? Or even strength? Forest knows he won’t be getting any of that from my side of the family.”

“This war isn’t any different from the goblin fairy wars before it,” Sugarplum scoffed. “It’s all been about stupid prejudices and an almost laughable misunderstanding of the magical properties that separate your peoples. No, if the new king is going to need brute strength then the dark forest can provide it better than I ever could. But this new king isn’t going to be born to a bruiser of a goblin. He’s being born to you two. What I see before me are two highly intelligent goblins,” Plum wrapped her hands around Griselda’s. “An intuitive and adaptable mother,” then she touched Mordecai’s shoulders, “a scholarly and logical father. One little blessing isn’t going to change the strengths that he will inherit from the two of you. A Bog King isn’t born at random, let your talents be a guide to raising this new king.”

“Now if you’ll excuse me, I should keep patrolling, not everyone comes to the border for a nice chat.”

“Wait, Plum,” Griselda surged forward, this time grabbing Sugarplum’s fingers. “My son, would you still be involved once he’s born?”

“What do you mean?” Plum paused.

“Nanny, tutor, godmother,  _ anything _ ,” Griselda said, “If the new king will rely on intelligence, than who better than yourself to teach him?”

“I’ll-” Plum swallowed. It sounded really good actually. “If the new king allows I will provide him with whatever he asks, so long as it does not conflict with my station as a neutral party.”

“Griselda are you sure-”

“Don’t be ridiculous Mordecai, who better to help guide the next Bog King than the oldest and wisest fairy known?”

Well, being called old and wise was better than being called crazy. “I’ll check up on you once the ceasefire has been lifted, remember, keep it a secret.”

“Oh, of course, no one will know,” Mordecai assured her.

They were, absolutely the oddest goblin couple that Sugarplum had ever seen, but for the first time in centuries Plum felt like she was seeing an end to the constant violent struggle between goblins and fairies. As she started gaining height she turned and waved, watching the pair disappear under the thorny canopy that blocked out the sunlight.

There was a rustle. Plum didn’t even look over at the branch that the little imp was now perched upon.

“You’re going to follow me everywhere aren’t you?” Plum muttered.

The squeaking reply suggested uncertainty, but the giggle afterward suggested the exact opposite. Plum would probably be stuck with the little one until it tired of her. But she was a being of almost infinite magic, and this was an imp she was talking about. Boredom wasn’t likely to come into the picture for a long long long long time.

Fairy godmother to the Bog King… 


End file.
